


For The Love Of Theatre! (And You?)

by CookieCatSU



Category: Camp Camp (Web Series)
Genre: M/M, Max Has a Crush on Preston Goodplay, Max's dad - Freeform, Only rated teen because Max curses constantly, Pre-Relationship, Preston lives with his grandmother, Preston may also be crushing, Side note: David is a dad, They become friends, This is just about Max and Preston going to plays, and being idiots
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-02
Updated: 2020-10-02
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:53:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26746918
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CookieCatSU/pseuds/CookieCatSU
Summary: "Are you saying you do not appreciate the pure splendor, which is theatre?" Preston's on his feet already, voice swelling with pure disbelief.Max just shrugs, "It's just a buncha old people flouncing around on stage. Never been my thing""This will not do. No, no, not at all! This must be rectified"Or; Preston teaches Max about the joys of theatre.
Relationships: Preston Goodplay/Max
Comments: 6
Kudos: 48





	For The Love Of Theatre! (And You?)

Preston stares down at Max from his perch on the edge of the beat up Theatre Camp stage, looking particularly offended. Like something is off in the world. Max glares right back up at him, lips pursed, having paused midway through reading the transcript clutched in his hands. Max has started to help Preston go over his plays, mostly for lack of anything else to do (and his grammar and spelling were atrocious, so it usually turned out to be a good laugh).

"Are you saying you do not appreciate the pure _splendor,_ which is theatre?" 

Preston’s on his feet already, voice swelling with pure disbelief.

Max just rolls his eyes, before waving his hand in a so-so motion. "It's just a buncha old people flouncing around on stage. Never been my thing"

Big mistake. Max thinks saying that was one of his worst decisions in _years._

"This will not do. No, no, not at all! This must be rectified"

* * *

The Dining Hall is loud, with the din of plastic sporks scrapping plastic trays and childish voices screaming over each other. Nikki shovels her face with food beside Max, too focused to talk, and Neil pokes at his breakfast with a frown.

"They should be feeding this to the pigeons" Neil complains, "Then maybe it'll be doing some good"

Max glares at his tray, "Yeah. It'll keep the little fuckers away"

"What chaos are we reaping today, guys?"

Max watches David out of the corner of his eye. He's talking to Ered (and he's been watching Max, so Max has been watching him right back. Concerned or not, he doesn't need someone constantly looking over his shoulder. It's frustrating)... and Nikki is looking over his shoulder right now, hands slamming on his back.

"Pay attention! We gotta figure out what we're doing today"

Neil shrugs. "I was planning on spending some time with my computer. You two can do whatever you want without me"

David clears his throat. "Good morning Campers! I hope everyone slept well? And you're all feeling _energized?_ Can I get a Camp Campbell!?"

There's an undercurrent of mumbles, some sounds that may or may not have resembled a C. David is hardly deterred.

"Great! Now it's time to figure out what we'll be doing for the day! Any ideas?"

Again, a wave of mumbles and not much else. Nurf pops out with a fart joke. Harrison snickers, and nearly drops all of the cards in his hands.

Space Kid suggests Space. The standard sort of stuff.

Then Preston raises his hand.

Max stares at him. What was Theater Boy playing at?

Preston starts talking as soon as the cheerful counselor looks at him. 

"Well, David, we could go see a play"

"Don't we do that all the time?" Nerris pipes up from beside him. The question is coupled with a disgusted little scowl, and if those elf ears of hers weren't plastic, they'd probably be flicking in dissatisfaction.

"No, a _real_ play" Preston replies with a scoff.

Harrison hides his smirk with a hand. "So you're admitting the stuff you make us watch isn't?"

"I didn't say that. My work _is_ impressive, and wildly **misunderstood** and **underappreciated** , I must add, but they're not _true_ theatre productions. I could do more of course, if I didn't have such a restrictive, constraining budget _forced_ upon me-"

Gwen, ever the voice of reason, frowns from where she leans against the wall, "We aren't made of money, guys. We're doing our best-"

Preston cuts right over her, loud and agitated. "It simply isn't right! I couldn't even get doves for my rendition of 'The Phoenix and The Turtle'. If I could just have a little more funds-"

Nurf scoffs, "You'd still need to have good ideas if you want to write a play that isn't trash, Theatre nerd"

Preston turns immediately (Max swears he can hear a vertebrae snap in his neck or something, shit), and screams at the top of his lungs across the Dining Hall, " _Excuse_ me? Say it again!"

Nurf grins widely, much too happy to oblige. He cups his hands around his mouth, and pelts right back, "Your plays are trash!"

And there it is, the usual tulmoutus chaos that always consumed the Dining Hall first thing in the morning. Oh, how Max had missed it. He watches Preston spring off his bench seat with murderous intent in his orange eyes, and for a moment, the current subject at hand is forgotten. It was about to go down!

"Oh, that's it! Throw up your dukes, you big, boorish **buffoon**!"

Nurf stands up from the bench, just laughing his butt off. He grabs his breakfast tray in his hands, laden with Quartermaster's signature droopy eggs and shriveled sausage and all, and it looks like he's moments from throwing it at Preston.

Gwen pushes them both apart, "Nope. Not getting into this with you two, _first_ thing in the morning!

Someone should probably do something, but it wasn't going to be Max. Watching Preston thrash against Gwen's restraint as she pushes him back by the forehead, while he shouts obscenities at Nurf, is pretty hilarious.

What the heck was _loathly,_ or _purblind,_ anyway?

"I think that's a great idea, Preston!" David interjects, with one of those characteristically cheery smiles that was always a little too wide. Uncomfortable, maybe. The whole room is buzzing. Nikki's chanting food fight beside Max, and the boy has half a mind to join in. 

"We _should_ go see a play"

Preston claps his hands together, eyes bright with something else now: something _prideful_ and _smug_. 

"I knew you'd think so, David!" Preston says, as the other campers groan. Neil mutters a quick, 'the fuck' that apparently slides past David's radar. Preston continues, unperturbed, as if he can't hear any of them. "I was thinking MacBeth, oooh, or Romeo and Juliet, perhaps?"

Max glares at Preston, that j- jerk, from across the dining hall. Preston only grins in return.

* * *

"What do you think you're doing?" Max snaps, the next day.

Preston beams, until he sees the scowl etched across Max's face, "Max, I- what's wrong?"

"I just had to sit through a _three hour_ play with you fucking dumbasses. I was stuck sitting between Dolph and Nurf, who didn't stop talking the whole time, by the way, and Space Kid kept kicking the back of my damn seat, and I swear to god if I hear Nerris sing one more time I'm going to fucking pop!"

And it's your fault, Max thinks, but he doesn't say it out loud. It's implied. Preston knows. It was his dumbass idea, after all.

"I'm sorry to hear you didn't enjoy yourself"

"Nikki hit me in the head with a fucking ball, you know. She and Ered are just playing catch in the middle of the damn theater, 'cause that's definitely normal. She didn't know, but I was this close to climbing right over my seat and strangling her"

Max presses his thumb and forefinger together. There might have been a micrometer between them if one squinted, really, really hard.

Preston laughs. It's cackling and ridiculous and way too loud. Not unpleasant, though. Max can't help but look over, hand falling back limply to his side, irritation temporarily forgotten. His stomach does this weird, flipping thing, as he watches Preston press his hand over his mouth, his shoulders just shaking with mirth…. kind of like after eating the rancid cafeteria meatloaf, but not, exactly? It's different. Max can't quite pinpoint what it's like, but it's nice, almost.

Then Max wonders what's so _funny._

"Oh my goodness! I really _am_ sorry, Max. I would have rathered it just be the two of us, of course, but I thought the chances of us _actually_ getting off the campground would be higher if we brought everyone"

Max nods in understanding. Made sense. No way was David letting anyone leave without him and the whole menagerie trailing behind them. In fact, the chances that any of them left Lake Lilac again before summer ended was pretty slim. Still…

"We still could," Max says, as if it's the most obvious thing in the world.

"What?" Preston sits up, suddenly alert. He's invested. He's intrigued and he's interested, and he's staring dead straight at him.

Max swallows down the sudden lump in his throat. His hands are starting to get clammy, so he jams them in his hoodie pocket, before answering, "We can still go to a play, just the two of us. We could sneak out or something, I dunno. I'm cool with whatever"

Preston grins, "I like the way you think, young Maximillian"

"Don't fucking call me that" Max snaps, but he's smiling faintly.

"I can see it now, Max! Me and you, climbing right over that fence! Braving our daring escape like the rugged, rouge young men we are. Brilliant! That could be a new play! Escape from the Killer Summer Camp! Yes, yes! Title pending, of course… but the idea's all there!"

Max laughs, and it all feels so natural, because apparently ditching camp with Preston fucking Goodplay, is the most obvious thing in the world, nowadays.

What the hell was the world coming to?

* * *

They sneak out of their tents at about ten minutes before dawn. Max pauses halfway to the tent's entrance, silent as he watches Neil stir in his sleep. He mutters something, something incriminatingly close to 'mommy', and under any other circumstances, Max probably would have set up camp to see if he said anything embarrassing he could hold over him later, but not today. Max has prior engagements today, so he simply waits for him to turn over and settle back down again, before breathing a quiet sigh of relief and ducking through the tent flap.

Preston is waiting for him at the campfire circle. Max raises an eyebrow, when he sees Preston in shorts, and a mustard yellow sweater. The hell? 

"Where's your dumbass ruffle thing" He asks, brows furrowed.

Preston giggles. Max finds the sound particularly annoying, probably because he finds everything annoying first thing in the morning (not because of the way his heart skips. It doesn't).

"Dreadfully hot today, so I thought I'd trade my signature outfit for a tasteful sweater" He primly adjusts his collar.

Max just shrugs, "I'd say some shit, but it's too fucking early to think. And we should get going instead of standing around like dumbasses. Rather not get caught"

Preston shakes his head, tone teasing, "Tsk, tsk. And here I was, thinking you were a rebel, Maximillian"

He does start walking toward the perimeter of the camp, though. Max falls in step beside him. Preston's almost half a head taller than him, but it isn't too difficult to keep up.

"I am- just not a dumbass. We don't get to do what we want if we get caught. They'll probably tie us to some chairs or something stupid"

"True" Preston stops in front of the fence. It's chain link, so each hole is an excellent handhold. It's almost like they were asking them to climb it, honestly, "Give me a leg up, will you?" Preston says, and Max is dumbfounded, because that really wasn't necessary. Was he trying to vault right over the top or some shit?

Whatever. They just needed to get the hell outta dodge.

"Alright, sure"

He crouches, cups his hands, and lifts upward once Preston gives him his foot. The taller boy clambers over the fence, and once he's safely to the otherside Max scales it behind him with practiced ease.

"You do this sort of thing a lot, don't you?" Preston asks. He sounds mystified. Impressed, too.

Max smiles a little. "Hell yeah. Follow my lead, and we'll be at the theater before anyone's even noticed we're gone"

"I like the sound of that!" Preston exclaims. "I'm telling you Max, you are going to love it! It's magical"

Max looks back behind him. The camp is getting smaller and smaller in his vision. Good.

They're glistening with sweat by the time they get to the theater. Max is overheated by the 30 minute jog swaddled in his big ass blue hoodie, but he refuses to take it off. He'll live. Probably. And if he doesn't, too bad. He'd rather die than take it off.

Preston bends in half, hands on his knees. His face is flushed, and some of the sweat dribbling down his face has started to run in his eye. He wipes it off with his hand, but some of it still clings to his eyelashes. And dang, Max has to ask himself if his eyelashes have always been that fluttery and pretty, or what?

Where'd that thought come from? The fuck?

He shakes his head.

"Lakewood Theatre" Preston draws in a long, deep breath, though it might have been so long because he was winded, "How I have missed your warm embrace~"

It's huge, with ginormous wooden columns at the front of the building. About 20 or so windows stare back at them, each surrounded by pretty decorative moldings against the stark white vinyl.

"Drum up some more excitement, Max. For, behold, before you is America's oldest and **most famous summer theatre** "

"They don't have any AC, do they?"

"You'll hardly be concerned with that, once you feast your eyes upon the pure _exquisite beauty_ of today’s performance"

He doubts that. He doubts a nice performance is going to stop him from heat stroking out. He pants, wiping at his forehead, and that's when it occurs to him...

"Drama boy, how the heck are we getting in without tickets?"

Preston's eyes light up, tiny little blazing fires, "We sneak in, of course" He shouts, "Unless you're chicken, that is"

He's such an idiot (Max is loving it), "You know I'm fucking not. Let's do this"

Sneaking in is easier than expected. The woman at the ticket booth is inattentive, and doesn't notice that even though they asked to go to the bathroom, they turned to the left, toward the amphitheater, instead of in the direction the bathroom stalls were.

They're both giggling pretty loudly once they've snuck into the auditorium, which is dim already. There are already actors on stage, with big bright spotlights on them. Preston's eyes light up when he catches a tail end of one of the lines, 'Thou art a scholar' or something like that, and he grabs Max's arm and pulls him into one of the aisles. Max hisses.

"Oh, this is Hamlet, Max!" Preston squeals, beside himself with excitement, "You are really going to love this!"

Max settles into the seat. It's foam, with a red, velvety covering. Just like the seats in a movie theater, each seat is connected by a single arm rest between them, so Max and Preston's arms brush for a moment as they get situated. Max only really notices because it's sweltering in the building, and Preston's sweater sleeves are thin enough that Max can feel the warmth radiating off of him. It's an uncomfortable sensation, and he jerks his arm away.

Preston's too busy watching the performance to notice. His eyes are gleaming, and his face is so bright it's crazy. Max has literally never seen him, or anyone, really, get so excited over anything.

It's cute, almost. Shit, did he just think Preston was cute?

"Look Max," Preston points at the stage. One of the actors, dressed in a particularly frilly shirt, is standing poised in the spotlight, "It's time for Hamlet's monologue. This is my favorite part!"

Max nods, but has a hard time focusing.

At the end of the day, Max didn't really get the appeal. And that may or may not have had something to do with the fact that he spends most of the time in the theater watching Preston, as opposed to actually watching the play. Then again, maybe not. Maybe Max just wasn't a theater aficionado.

Still, when they mill out of the theater, and Preston turns to him, grinning so wide, and says, "Wasn't that amazing! Couldn't you feel the raw emotion?"

Max says, "Yeah" and then a moment passes, and for some reason beyond his comprehension, he says, "We should do it again sometime"

And Preston looks so satisfied, so content by the sentiment, that Max can't bring himself to regret the statement.

* * *

Turns out, Preston knew a ton of stuff about theater productions. His struggles to produce his own, original content did not encroach on his ability to judge the classics. He knows a lot about which theaters to go to, and which shows are quality shows, as well as how accurate they are.

He knows a ton about theater.

Max supposed one did tend to get knowledgeable about something after years being obsessed with it. And as Preston had clearly stated, "Acting is my one, single, true passion. I would choose theatre over candy any day" and if that's not obsession, Max didn't know what was.

"That was such a fresh retelling of Hannibal's tale. So thrilling, but some of the acting was subpar"

Max couldn't agree more. It was over the top and stupid.

"Oh, Romeo, **hold me** " Max places his hand to his forehead, pretending to swoon.

Preston follows suit, and soon they're both giggling so loud, each imitation becoming bigger and more demonstrative. Preston throws himself into Max's arms with a big, dramatic sigh, reaching up toward the darkening sky above, with a noise of suffering, "O, that I were a glove upon that hand, That I might touch that cheek!"

Max's face is red, heart pounding, but he goes along with it. He's still laughing, he's having fun. This is hilarious. Preston pulls away, not a moment too soon.

"Parting is such sweet sorrow. Boo hoo" Max laughs, "What even the hell was that?"

Preston shrugs. If Max didn't know any better (and he doesn't) he would have said Preston looked a little flushed too.

"The source material was good"

* * *

Preston's annoying. That's just straight-up fact. Max doesn't dislike him, or anything. It's not a question. Just observation.

He's just grating.

He's over the top. He's too loud and he talks too much.

He listens too, though.

Preston sits down gingerly beside Max on the steps. "You're still here? I was certain you would have fled this cesspool by now!"

"I'm still waiting for my parents. Assuming they show up. What about you, Romeo. Shouldn't your pumpkin carriage be here to get you already?"

Preston's lips twist in annoyance. He talks with his hands, especially when he's agitated, so as soon as his left hand starts gesturing at his side like he's going to strangle someone, Max knows he's in for a long talking to.

"That's _Cinderella,_ Maximillian" He shakes his head with a huff, "Goodness gracious, we really need to teach you some more decorum. How can you be so uncultured? I don't understand how people mistake juvenile nursery tales for true theatre productions. Did you even see that movie, 'A Cinderella Story'. It was awful! I would hate to even be associated with that drivel-" Preston pauses, when he sees the way Max is staring at him. He flushes red, hand playing with his ruff, "Sorry, how rude. And I'm getting off topic. I'm still here at this, excuse my language, at this shit-hole of a camp because, Gram-Gram... is running a bit late on picking me up. Today's Bingo Night, so Muriel probably distracted her, for all I know. Oh, I can't stand that wrinkler wench! She always cheats, you know?"

Today's been shit, but that gets a laugh out of Max all the same. "How do you cheat at Bingo-"

"It doesn't matter. She finds a way, I'm sure" He huffs out a frustrated sigh, chin placed dejectedly on fisted hands, "I can't wait to go home"

He sounds so desperate, so homesick. Max doesn't really share the sentiment. He can't help but wonder what it's like, with a tinge of jealousy, to have a home apparently worth missing.

His surely wasn't.

"I guess… Who _knows_ when the hell my parents will _actually_ show up. I might not be going home until fucking next week" Max shrugs. Maybe never.

Preston gazes at Max, so concerned. Max expects a laugh, maybe, or a joke, or a snippy comment, definitely an outburst of some kind. He expects him not to listen, because none of them listened to each other (even Nikki and Neil brushed his concerns aside like they were nothing, just so caught up in the moment).

He definitely doesn't expect the soft smile he receives.

"Well, I'll wait with you until they arrive"

That doesn't really work out. Preston's grandmother shows up ten minutes later, in her little yellow Prius, hearing aid snapped in her ear, and also off. Because that's what people with hearing aids do, apparently. They just refuse to turn them on.

Preston looks so apologetic, when he has to leave Max behind.

"Call me! We'll meet up sometime" Preston calls across the campsite.

It's oddly sweet.

So, maybe Preston isn't quite an annoyance. He's annoying sometimes, sure.

But he's sweet, too.

* * *

Max has no idea what it's like to be in love. He'd just wrapped his thick skull around the concept of being cared for at all, around having people who stick by your side, who don't throw you to the wolves whenever it happens to be convenient.

He doesn't really need Theater Boy coming along, throwing a wrench in things. He's had enough he's had to adjust to already, right?

He doesn't need his heart pounding in his chest everytime he hears that loud ass, manic little giggle. He definitely doesn't need for his breath to catch every time Preston turns to him with an obnoxious, demure scoff, or when he complains about lesser artistes, because he does that shit all the time!

"Can you believe them? This is a terrible rendition of 'A Midsummer Night's Dream'. Completely inaccurate" He huffs out a frustrated puff of air out of his nose, and lightly presses his hand to Maxwell's shoulder all casual like, eyes imploring and searching, "Don't you agree, Max?"

And Max's head is just spinning, utterly lightheaded, again. He's been lightheaded a lot lately, because Preston is always touching and prodding, always so close, just being Preston, and it shouldn't bother Maxwell so much, and it's frustrating that it does.

"Definitely. They need to up their game, shit"

Max is ultra aware of the hand, still casually resting on his shoulder. His breath is caught in his throat.

"Would you look at that? An overview of the lake. Perhaps this production isn't a total waste after all"

Preston has already moved his hand away, and it moves to rest back in his lap, as he turns his full attention back to the stage.

Max had been sure he'd never fucking breathe again, honestly.

* * *

Preston invites Max over to his house, after that third play. David was busy with his second, second summer job, so he couldn't find the time to pick him up, and Preston's house was close by to the theater, anyway, and Max didn't feel like enduring the half hour bus ride back to David's place. It just made sense, ultimately, to come with Preston.

"It'll be like a sleepover" Preston exclaims, definitely like a kid who's never been to a sleepover, hands shaking at his sides. He's absolutely beaming with excitement.

Max tries to ignore the way his heart flutters against his ribs at the sight, but ultimately fails.

"Yeah, whatever"

Preston knocks on the heavy oak door, very, very loudly, about 6 or 7 times. At the last knock, footsteps can be heard on the other side of the door, and then locks are shifting out of place with a couple clicks. The little old lady from Parent's Day greets them, her face lighting up as soon as she gazes upon Preston.

"Gram-Gram!" Preston shouts, so loud Max thinks his eardrums are going to burst. He moves to hug her, and she slowly returns the gesture. When they part, she ushers them both inside.

The house is quiet, and empty, besides them. It isn't lonely, however. It has that lived in feel, with the papers all over the coffee table and the smell of bread wafting from the kitchen and the scent of mothballs coming from the closet. The couch is flower print, and the curtains are cream with roses on them, and it's a little on the chilly side once he gets past the hall into the living room, and it just _looks_ like a grandmother's house.

"Gram-Gram, this is Max," Preston says, once he's shut and locked the door.

"It's nice to meet you, Fax" She calls.

Max covers his mouth so he doesn't bust out laughing. Gotta respec' the elders and all.

Preston drags his hand down his face. "No, Gram-Gram, **Max**! Max! M-A-X" 

Comprehension dawns, and the lady offers a little smile, "Oh, _Max._ Why didn't you say so?" Preston groans in annoyance, but she either doesn't hear him or elects to ignore it. She turns to Max then, "My Preston has told me all about you! He talks about you all the time"

"Gram-Gram!" Preston shouts.

She elects to ignore that too.

"Make yourselves at home, dearies" Preston's grandmother says, soft and sweet.

They do just that. Max plops down on the couch, and Preston soon follows suit. 'Gram-Gram' excuses herself for a moment, claiming she just needs to grab something. Preston's face immediately falls. He looks like every bone in his body is telling him to go stop her.

"What man? You look like you swallowed a bee"

"She always does this!" Is all he says.

She comes back ten minutes later, with a huge cardboard box. It's dinged up a bit, and a chunk of one flap is missing. The only clue to its contents is the word, 'Memories' written in black marker on the side.

Preston groans, kicking his feet against the floor, "No, Gram-Gram, we talked about this! You don't have to bring those out!"

She smiles. She has a couple teeth missing, but it still manages to be pretty charming, "But they are so good"

She starts rummaging through the box, and then she pulls out a VCR tape. The label is so smudged Max can hardly read it at all. He can make out the letters, 'Rec-' and not much else.

Preston looks ready to die. He covers his face with his hand. "Gram-Gram, No, Don't show him those! They are subpar at best, and stupid"

Max raises a brow, as he watches the VCR tape being pushed into the VCR by a gnarled, leathery little granny hand. The screen flickers, before the image steadies out, bright and only a little tarnished. There's a stage, with a half opened velvet curtain, and a gaggle of costumed little children, no older than 7, lined up. Gram-Gram suddenly starts clapping, with a look of enthused satisfaction.

"There's my little Prez" She exclaims loudly, pointing at the screen.

Max's eyes widen a little, when he realizes one of the kids on the stage is indeed Preston, but 4 years younger and 2 feet shorter and still with that downy baby fat on his cheeks. He totters on shaky little legs, and he's gripping so tight onto his script he looks like he's going to rip it in half.

"My boy was so cute"

Preston's face suddenly floods with pink, and he lets out a sigh of utmost suffering, covering his eyes with the ruff around his neck. Screen Preston drops his script, and in the scramble to grab it back up, slips and falls butt first on the stage. Apparently the impact hurt his little touche, because then he burst into tears.

"Yeah, lil Pretzel's so cute" Max exclaims, stifling a loud laugh, "Wow"

"The horror! Mine eyes burn!"

Max chuckles louder, "What are you even supposed to be?"

"A tree. Oh god. Make it stop, please. For all that is good, have mercy"

"When do you all start singing? This is a musical, right?"

Preston turns to his grandmother, "Gram-Gram, can we please shut this off. Surely, Maxwell, who may I remind you, is our guest, has no interest in watching home movies about me struggling through mediocre, outdated performances!"

"Nah, G, we good. This is the shit!"

Preston's face becomes even redder, if that were possible, and Max only laughs harder.

He was glad he came.

* * *

Were he and Preston becoming friends? Maybe. Possibly.

Yes. Yes they were.

Nikki gazes up at him with a look swimming with betrayal, "Oh, I get it, you're hanging with Preston again, aren't you?"

"Yeah. So?"

"Come on, Max! Catch the mole is a three player game. I know because we always play together"

Max shrugs carelessly. "Whatever. Just play with Neil. Later, jackasses"

Max promptly takes his leave. Nikki settles into the idea of spending the day with Neil, before Harrison pops up.

"Hey, Nikki! Can I borrow Neil? Thanks" and he's dragging him away without a hello or an explanation or anything.

"Harrison, let go of me!" Neil snaps, but it's no use.

Nikki stares after him, sitting alone in the dirt.

"Huh" She places her hand to her chin in thought. There was no one to play with here, at this point, "Maybe I should go see what Nerris is up to?"

* * *

The small, two seated dinner table David had crammed in the corner of his little two bedroom apartment, is silent. Max glares into his plate, well, bowl, like he does most days. David is fishing for something, anything, to say.

"So uh, Preston, huh?" Is his out of the blue conversation starter.

Max huffs, "What about him?"

"You two just seem to be spending a lot of time together lately"

"Okay, and?"

"I'm just glad you're making more friends! I think he could be a great influence on you… he's such a nice boy. Very polite" David pauses, looking at the wall instead of Max. He hums as if in contemplation, twirling his spoon, "I've also noticed you've been spending _a lot_ of time looking at him?"

Max grunts, swirling his spoon in his soup. "Well, yeah. I have eyes, David. What the fuck else am I supposed to do with them? They see shit"

"Now you watch your mouth, young man" David laughs though, and grins, a wide happy grin that absolutely had nothing to do with Max's cursing. His eyes are twinkling, and it's clear he knows _something._

Maxwell realizes his mistake, much too late. David is still staring at him starry eyed, moments from squealing.

"David… no…!"

"This is just adorable! Who would have guessed it? You and Preston-"

"Please don't. I'm freaking begging you, David! Don't"

Too late. He wraps him up in a bone bending hug, despite Max’s desperate protests. David, as always, seems to become unreasonably strong for a smiling beanpole, every time he’s ready to give a hug. Max gags. The stew on the table narrowly gets spilt when David leans over to tug Max down into a hug, but thankfully doesn’t topple over. 

The last thing Max wants is to end up burnt.

His ego is already burnt up enough as is, anyway.

* * *

David acts like he's sending Max off to prom or some bullshit. He's smiling the whole time, as he picks out his outfit, and snaps pictures once he's done getting ready. He can hardly contain his excitement, when he sees Max walk down the steps with the little red button down vest he'd picked out on, along with a burgundy bowtie and scratchy black slacks.

He bursts into happy laughter, "Oh Max, look at you! Isn't this just perfect?"

"You're trying to choke me?" Is all Max says, as he yanks at the tie chaffing at his neck. It's too fucking tight, and this is too shitting much, because it's just a play. That's all. Just two dumbasses going to a play.

David's acting like this is some marriage proposal or something, and he's off to his dang wedding. It isn't all that.

"Awww. Pose, Max!"

Max scowls at the camera, arms crossed over his chest. He let's David take a couple pictures, humors him, 'cause he'll be moody later if he doesn't, and Max would ultimately rather deal with an overly cheerful David than a sad David. David's insufferable when he gets sad. Gets on his last nerve 

"Alright, let's go"

Max is way too dressed up.

Turns out Preston is too. He's wearing a little suit, with a handkerchief and everything, a sky blue that matches his shirt. It's a huge contrast to his eyes, which shine like.. fuck, Max doesn't know…. Like setting sunsets, or some bullshit? All he really knows is that they're bright orange, still… and pretty.

Since when did he think his eyes were pretty? The hell is that?

He doesn't think of anything to say until they've clamored into the back of David's beat up Sudan.

"Your Grandma made you wear that?"

Preston smiles, with a shake of his head. "Oh, no, I chose this outfit myself. And must I say, it is quite dashing, is it not? I think it highlights my natural je ne sais quoi, yes?"

"Yeah. It does whatever the hell that is you just said"

Preston giggles.

David adjusts the mirror so he can see them in it, and smiles wide.

He's so much like a dad already, it's stupid. It's like he was born to be one, like he's got middle aged man running in his blood or something.

"So, Preston?"

"Yes-"

"You're excited for the play, aren't you?" David smiles, "Max sure is! Aren't you Max? It's all he's been talking about for weeks!"

Preston smiles, "Wonderful! I knew you'd become an avid lover of the arts! The thrall was simply too grand to resist, my friend"

"Oh my god, Dad, stop it" Max's eyes get huge, and he quickly shakes his head, "I meant, David, I definitely said David. Fuck"

David doesn't stop smiling for the whole car ride. Max scowls in the back.

"Have fun at the play cutie pies!"

"We won't" Max snaps, anything, to wipe that stupid grin off his stupid face.

David winks at him, and oh god, Max feels like his life is ending. By the time they stumble through the glass double doors of the theater's lobby, Max's ears are flaming red at the tips and his face is on fire.

"Are you okay, Maximillian?" He wished Preston wouldn't call him that, "you look, upset"

"Fucking awesome, thanks!"

* * *

It's October. The sky above is cloudless and clear. Max and Preston lay sprawled out in the grass, beneath the constellations shining above them. The wind is cool, but hasn't quite acquired that wintery bite of cold. It's nice.

Preston points above them, smiling, "Look at the stars, Max. Aren't they beautiful. Just dazzling?"

"Yeah"

Preston reaches out, gently clasping their hands between the plasticky blue sleeping bags. His hand is cool, and only a little clammy. Max's lips part in utter, wide eyed confusion.

"What the hell was that?"

"Oh, sorry. I just got caught up in the moment, and I realize I shouldn't have- **sorry** "

He goes to pull his hand back, voice trembling with panic. Max growls quietly, and locks their fingers tightly back together with a vengeance.

"Did I say you should stop?" Max asks.

Preston's brow furrows, forehead wrinkling between thin eyebrows, "I ah… no, I suppose?"

Then he giggles softly, stifling the noise with the back of his hand, (the one not being held hostage by Max, at least), "Oh, I know what's going on here, dear Maximillian-"

"Don't make it weird" Max snipes, "Just, just shut up. You're way more tolerable when you shut the hell up"

"So you do find me tolerable? Dear, dear, dear, I never would have guessed"

"Shut the fuck up man"

Preston keeps laughing.

**Author's Note:**

> I have no idea why this ship is so popular, but I saw it and almost immediately jumped on the bandwagon. It's so sweet. Also, I've never been to a play in my life, if that wasn't obvious, lol.


End file.
